


Escape - Part 2 [The Eight of Swords]

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Series: Escape [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Injuries, F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 21:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10317245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: Running from something changes a person. This is how it’s changed you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title of these will subsequently be tarot cards, their meanings tied to the chapter. Feedback is always appreciated.

([x](https://68.media.tumblr.com/fb6262f68164d19b835c273b4432c32d/tumblr_omb5gfVMhf1vzlnkco1_400.gif),[x](https://68.media.tumblr.com/47ff3b7ffd59139def3750cd6b1a9b90/tumblr_ogl8srEphs1vqwhgbo1_500.gif))

_You wince as gravel crunches underfoot, sounding almost deafeningly loud in the quiet night. All you have to do is get to the car. Mere feet feels like miles though, your wavering figure barely upright. You can feel the trickle of blood trail down your shoulder, wet and sickening as blood roars in your ears._

_You finally get to the old buick, hands fumbling once, twice, three times before you can finally pull open the door. You all but fall inside, hand braced against your throbbing shoulder as you swallow a sharp cry of pain._

_Fuck, it hurts._

_You rest for a minute, taking a deep watery breath before tucking yourself into the driver’s seat. Hand on the door, you move to pull it closed until cold harsh fingers grip your wrist._

_No._

_No no no no._

_Fuck._

You shoot upright, a strangled cry falling from chapped lips.

“Whoa- hey, hey, hey. You’re alright. It’s okay. You’re alright.” Tender hands clasp your upper arms, holding you steady as you gasp. It’s cold, the air that you suck in. It prickles at your lungs, thin as you grab at flannel fabric.

“You gotta calm down, Don’t want you passing out on me. Again.”

Yeah. Yeah, the guy. The guy with the green eyes from before.

He felt safe- something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since your dad passed, and definitely not since those demon _assholes_ started tracking you down. You dad warned you- warned you to run as far and as fast as you could. It was a painful lesson learned. You couldn’t afford to stop and help. Not even for-

“Are you thirsty?” he asks, eyes intent on your own. _God, yes._ You nod.

Your mouth is drier than the sahara, and as he presses an opened water bottle to your lips, you can’t help but wince at your split lip. You push his hand away lightly when you’ve had enough, hands shaky. They’re bruised and bleeding, scabbed over in parts. What’s worse are your wrists. Rubbed raw from being cuffed for so long, they feel as though they’re on fire. The longer you sit there, the more the pain settles in.

He notices you staring, reaching for something on the nightstand next to the bed you’re both sat on. “I’ve got a friend, and he’s better at fixin’ people up than I am. But if you let me, I can see about cleaning up what I can and bandaging it all.”

You nod a little. “Please.”

He smiles quick, pulling things from a small first aid kit. You take the opportunity to really look at him, the light of the small room much easier to see by. He’s got a flannel shirt over a tee, splotches of red over them both and his faded jeans. You realize that he’s more handsome than you thought. A real lady killer, for sure. Why he’s mixed up in demon business and not modeling, you’ve no idea.

The doorknob of the room jiggles before giving, a very tall man built like a brick wall waltzing in. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you thrust yourself into the former man’s arms. He can keep you safe. You know he can.

He holds you, arms solid around your shoulders. “Whoa- hey, that’s just Sam. My little brother. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

“Sorry, didn’t know she was up yet. Otherwise I would’ve knocked first.” Sam winces, rubbing at the back of his neck.

He cuts an impressive figure, all broad and muscled. It’s his hair that grabs your attention now, soft wavy locks curling around his ears and softening the sharp angles of his face. He’s dressed similarly to the green eyed man and looks like he could be a model too, you suppose.

You relax into his hold, convinced that Sam is no threat. Although, something nags at you.

“I’m Dean, by the way.” He smiles now, charming as he rubs a hand over your upper arm. His eyes almost twinkle as looks at you. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He leads you to the small bathroom, sitting you on the countertop. He hauls in the first aid supplies he deems necessary, setting them along the side of the countertop you don’t occupy. Snatching up a washcloth, he wets it, wringing it out before carefully lifting one of your hands.

“This is probably gonna sting a bit- fair warning.” You nod, watching as his eyes linger on yours for a second longer before dropping to your lap. He dabs at the red and your face goes stony, unwilling to show pain. His eyes flicker to your as he goes, his quiet reminder to _breathe_ setting a slow inhale and shaky exhale.

“Doin’ real good for me. We’re halfway done with this part.”

The once-white towel is now blood red, the sight hitting you hard in the gut. Your eyes close, focus intent on his touch now. He’s a more gentle than you’d expected, tentative fingers pulling at your tank to wipe at the cut there. You whimper a little, the cut deeper than the others, and he stops.

“Sorry, sorry,” he rushes. “Just a little more and I’m done.” You nod, grimacing as he cleans, a dull ache forming behind your eyes.

Dean quickly rubs salve over the cuts, wrapping them up as the pain behind your eyes begins to bloom. This is no regular headache, and you can’t stop what is about to happen. He finishes, hands still clasped loosely around one of your own.

“Dean,” you manage, cracking your eyes open at him. A small crease lines his brow, one of his hands grabbing your upper arm.

“Hey, you okay?”

You shake your head violently, trying to stave off the episode. “I’m- _ahhh_!”

You feel as though you’re submerged underwater, the feeling never normal to you no matter how many times you’d experienced it. You can sense Dean there, his panic spiking as you lean forward and clutch at his arm. Your head pounds, far worse than any migraine, as you see shapes and colors swirl in bright lights around you.

Suddenly, there’s a massive bright sky-blue light, coming right toward you. It’s nothing like you’d ever seen before, all-encompassing and _powerful_. You can sense it’s power, and it’s speed, coming right at you.

The colors fade, giving way to tan walls and funky wallpaper. Dean’s eye level, wide eyes panicked as you try to loosen your death grip on his arm.

“Hey, hey, you okay?”

“We gotta get outta here.”

“What?”

You grab him tighter, “Dean, we’ve got to get out of here. Something’s coming. We gotta go.” You stand up, legs jelly underneath you. Dean’s still at your side, holding you up as you scramble into the main room.

“What the hell do you mean ‘something’s coming’? How do you know there’s something coming?”

Your raised voices pull Sam from his laptop, long legs bringing him quickly to your side.

“There’s no time to explain! We gotta go! Now!” you shout, clutching at Dean, willing him to understand. His eyes find his brother’s, a silent conversation happening as you beg. Whatever this thing is, surely it wants you. It wants you, and you won’t be responsible for other people’s deaths anymore. Not again. Never again.

It’s too late though, lights flickering as you wait.

Waiting for whatever of god’s unholy creations to come for you, surely tearing these men apart.

The lights go off for a beat, then come back on.

A man in a trench coat stands in the middle of the room, bright blue eyes focused on you. You grab harder at Dean, willing him to somehow make it all stop. But he doesn’t.

He speaks to the man instead.

“Jesus, Cas. You scared the hell outta us! Why don’t you ever use the phone we bought you?”

To say you were bewildered at his reaction would be an understatement.

“What,” you gasp. “What the-”

Cas squints his eyes, head tilting at you. “Sam, Dean, who is this psychic?”


End file.
